


Not Everyone Can Speak Latin

by bela013



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 12,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bela013/pseuds/bela013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles about the Courier and Joshua Graham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alea iacta est

"Alea iacta est" with a heavy arm draped over her shoulder, Joshua leans his bulk on her, his mouth pressed to her ear and with his hot breath as nothing but steamy whiskey. He was such a light weight, that she regretted wasting that bottle on him.

She twisted in his arm, and with more than a few drinks in hew own stomach, there was no good sense to tell her that trowing her legs on top of his might be a bad idea.

Apparently, he was more Legion than men when into his cups. It didn't stop her from practically sitting on his lap. They were a joke. An ex-NCR and the only ex-Legion alive. All they needed was a bar to walk into. A ranger station was what they got, so they'd have to make do. With the ranger station an the bottle of whiskey.

The feeling of his mouth against her ear was only the beginning. His warm tongue licked her ear lobe before he started to suck at it. That action alone was far more obscene that she thought he was capable of. His other hand must have dropped his drink, she didn't care, the other hand was on her knee, caressing the soft skin behind it. She really didn't care where his drink was now.

"Is that how Legion dirty-talk?" her voice was breathier that she would have liked. But he didn't seam to be paying attention to that. He didn't gloat. He just stopped sucking on her ear lobe to start kissing at her neck. Sloppy drunk kisses. It didn't matter, his fingers drew lazy circles at her knee, and she always liked that.

"Only if you fuck by the river." He was crass. His voice rough at the crook of her neck. It was more than the alcohol talking in both or either of them. His hand went north, up her dress, squeezing her thigh, making a giggle bubble out of her mouth. He was bold.

"No river in sight" She had no idea what he said in Latin even if she knew exactly where he was going with that. His hand only stopped going higher and groping at her when it reached her underwear. The bandages of his hand were almost undone. They must have been. All she felt when he put two of his fingers between her labia was his skin.

"So why are you so wet?" he begun to massage her when she started to laugh at the absurd of his words. He was crass and bold when drunk, and what he lacked in finesse, he made up with his fingers.

The sloppy kisses at her neck continued, the little complaint that she might have made about it, went out the door when he started to finger her. She was getting some sort of Legion experience that not many could boast about, so she might as well lean back her head and give him full access to her neck. If that movement made it easier for her to grind against his hand, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could explain. But Joshua and [the wiki page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alea_iacta_est) make a better job at it.


	2. Sanguis

She knew why he accepted her talk of fair fights the moment he used the butt of his gun on the salt fellow. She wanted him to act less like the Legate that he used to be. And it wasn't for moral reasons. He scared her when he started to scream in Latin. She was scared that the moment he was done with those men, he'd kill her too. But he listened. He was bulletless and all ears.

Maria turned to the approaching men, leaving Joshua to his own fight. She only managed to shot down one of them before she ran out of bullets too. The one with a gun, thankfully. The other held up a makeshift machete and ran towards her. She could survive this day if he was the last of them. Her bullets were gone, but the knife in her boot was as sharp as always.

The machete loomed above her, and yet her knife sunk into his neck. There was sound. His scream was a mouthful of blood. And it flew like the river around them, calm and ungiving. It made way through his teeth and down his lips. He spit it at her before falling down.

No moment to rest, screams turn her to Joshua. His back flat on the red ground. The salt fellow was squeezing the life out him, and all Joshua could do about was shout in Latin. It might have been tribal fists that pummeled Joshua to the ground, but they both looked like savages to her.

She ran towards them when she sees that the shouts start to die out. In one big jump, she is atop them and her knife already at General Goggledegook's throat. She slices it without a second thought. Everything seams to stop for a second. They collapse on top of Joshua. And this was officially the weirdest three way that she took part in.

Negotiations were done for the day. She falls to the side, pulling the still warm corpse with her. It was over. That whole hellish day was over. She hoped that it was over. One more savage and she wouldn't give a fuck if they decided to put a cap in her.

"Blood." after what felt like hours, she hears Joshua's raspy voice. "You baptized me in blood" it felt like an accusation. She was too tired to care.

"Shut up" to drive the point home, she kicks at him. Tries to. She ends up with a leg over a corpse and a man covered in blood staring at her. The knife was still in her hand when she makes up her mind. That fucker deserved a proper punch. So she'd give it to him.

The knife is staked in their dead third wheel. He could hold it for a while. She needed both her hands to crawl over to Joshua. He only stares.

"Say it again" and he does. "Say it in Latin, for our friend's sake" he says it again. This time she only understands one word. She could treat a bullet wound like no one, but she always thought those Latin phrases were useless. "Sanguis" she says it back to him.

"Sanguis is so much more" she doesn't know if he was talking about the blood on his face or the word. She doesn't care. So she punches his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin is trick. It's not only declension that is hard. No word is ever just that. Blood has many translation possibilities. And sanguis has so many meanings. I could apply 70% of them to this scene.


	3. Demons

He was glaring at her again. That was all he ever did. Glare at people and hold grudges. She would have let him murder his way to the moon if it meant some peace and quiet. There was just no way of knowing that he'd take offence of that. She sided with him in his little quest, but just because she wasn't down to executions, he decided that she was glare worthy. 

"What is it that you want, you demon?" that got a proper rise out of him. His chest puffed in the same way fire geckos did before breathing fire on you. "Just tell me what it is and I'll give it to you, if you promise to leave me alone"

You never know how eye brows are important until you have to talk to a person who doesn't have them. All she had to gauge his humor was his eyes and some twisted body language. She wanted to know if he was angry in a violent way or if he was just angry enough to walk away.

"I'm not a demon" He was outraged, not angry. Outrage made him preach. She'd walk away herself, but she knows that he would just follow.

"No. You're not. Demons temp, and all you do is annoy me" The fire pit that lay between them was nothing but dying embers and she was glad for it. Joshua could look worse than a demons from across the flames, with the heat distorting her vision, his light eyes reflecting the fire.

"I'm no-" she cuts him short by trowing a hand full of dirt in his direction. The wind caries it to the side rather that forwards, but he still runs a cautious hand across his face.

"I heard you the fist time!" she feels bad about the dirt throwing. The whole Zyon thing has been chaos. She thought caravans would be an improvement from the courier life, but the only reason this wasn't worst, was that nobody shot her in the head. Yet. "I know you're not a demon"


	4. Early Morning

There is a certain time of the day where everything goes slower. You're not awake enough to notice things. You're limbs are heavier. The sun is coming up. And in a valley, where the walls are tall and red, the sun takes its time to greet you.

A cigarette barely hangs from her lips. The bench log is at her lower back. The floor was at the perfect temperature, she couldn't pass that ups. Rex lays draped on her lap. That dog was older than her, but still acted like a puppy.

There is the sound of footsteps behind her, coming from the mouth of the cave. It's not late enough for people to be up and about. She knows who it is without looking. Her insomnia kept her awake more than one time to see his inability to sleep for too long. There was no comfortable position when your whole skin could cause you pain.

He sits at the log, right next to her. His knee brush her shoulder. A heavy pair of cowboy boots is placed in front of him, and it's then that she notices that he's barefooted.

Her own bare feet are so different from his. That little bit of skin, with no scars or gauze, it made him more human that those strange eyes of his ever could. She doesn't look at him again. Her eyes are fixed on the way Rex's war fur blends into cold metal.


	5. Trade

A direct approach was always the best when it came to Joshua. If she was too polite or tried to show some tact, he'd only think she was plotting something. And since she was plotting something, she needed to act as blunt as possible.

"I want you to come with me tomorrow" there was no tell if he was listening or not. Still, she knew he was. "I want to see if I can salvage one of those trailers"

"That trailer park isn't near anything overly dangerous. You won't need my help for that." he closes his bible before looking up to her face. "So why ask me?"

She takes his attention as an invitation to sit by his side on the straw pallet he used as a bed, even if it really wasn't. The fact that he doesn't even bat his eyes at her proximity or that she was sitting in his bed in the middle of the night only made her next words easier to say.

"Because I want you to live with me" he laughs at her, and she is relieved. Laughing isn't the silent rage that he's so fond of. "So it only makes sense for you to help me pick the place we'll live"

"I'm not going to play house with you" the gap on the gauze for his mouth opens into a mouthful of teeth. She doesn't see his lips, only a smile that was too big. One of his tooth was missing, right after a canine. She never noticed before. His teeth were too big for anyone to notice a small gap if not really close.

"I want protection" she wasn't used to this kind of conversation. She thought she was being blunt until he started to think she was asking for his hand in marriage. "I want you to come with me, and protect me. You're a better shot than anyone in this camp. And I want someone who can shot a raider from a mile away"

"You want a sniper"

"I want ruthless" his smile gives way to a scowl. His lips were blotched, marked and deformed like the rest of his. But they were thin enough for her to think that he wasn't much to look at before the fire. Those lips were too thin for such a big head. "You are feared by everyone. Those who know of the Burned Man will never hurt me if they think we're together. And you can kill all the other who don't know you enough to walk away"

"What do I get out of this?" negotiating price was the first sign that you wanted to buy. It gave her confidence.

"You don't wanna play house, so I doubt you'll want what I had to offer" she places a hand on his biceps, and she doesn't like how small her hand looks when compared to it, so she sinks her nails into the softest part of it that she could find and only stops when she hears him hiss.

"Think of something tomorrow" he says through gritted teeth, but doesn't make a move to remove her hand. "I give you my water skin and you give me your rifle. I won't have you wasting bullets." it was the closest thing to a yes she would ever get.


	6. Radio

The radio picked up a strange station two days ago. The disc jokey just talked with himself, sometimes going as far as answering his own questions, and once spent a whole afternoon describing this one bird he saw that morning. The music was pleasant, and there were even some that she never heard before. So they'd tune in the morning and forgot about it.

It wasn't the first time she caught him humming. Most of the time she ignored it. Even the most taciturn of men had the right enjoy music. This time there was no radio for him to hum along with, but he still hummed. If his light mood wasn't enough to raise her eyebrows, his choice in music sent them straight to her hair line.

She just stood by the door of the room he pilled all junk he found and watched him dismantle their guns, clean them and put them together. A low chuckle bubbled up her throat when he started to sing the lyrics in a broken tone. He didn't seam to notice her. So she closed the door behind her. Better not spoil his mood, no matter how entertaining it was to watch him sing 'Praise The Lord and pass the Ammunition'.


	7. Rain 1/3

"Do you want a child?" She could hear the sound of the rain drops on the roof. Each drop louder than the sound of her surprise at his words. After a few calming breaths, she's forced to acknowledge that yes, he said those words to her. She wish he didn't. But there he was, standing right in front of her, waiting for an answer.

"No" she takes a deep breath, tries not to shout at him. She wanted him to know that this was her answer and she was sure of it. "No"

It bothers her. His questions sits likes a heavy stone in her stomach. The water in her clothes feels warm, his words were enough to give her cold sweats. It's more than the fact that she doesn't want it. Because she doesn't. She doesn't want a child. She wanted a mildly okay place to hole into for the night and hide from the rain.

"Are you sure?" her answer is cut by the sound of Rex's barks, followed by a loud crying. She knows that kind of crying. She knows it too well. Only the rock on her stomach keeps her from bolting out off the door, straight into the rain. She wanted to run away as fast as she could. "Because this might be only way I could ever give you one of those"

Realizing that his talk was scarier than a small human, she rounds him with shaky legs and goes further into the house, following the cries to a small back room. She would have fond the strength to walk straight into a yao guai if it meant leaving Joshua and his weird talks behind.

Tiny hands rattled at the bars of the old crib. Rex licked the hands as if apologizing for the barking. Or maybe he only wanted to make the loud noise stop hurting his ears. She wanted the same thing. It's been so long since she held a child. It was probably 7 years ago, in a birth she assisted in New Reno. This one looked bigger. He also felt heavier in her arms. Definitively not a new born. That was good. Skull wasn't so soft then.

"I thought that was what you wanted" no running from him now. She was backed into the small room, with a crib at the back of her legs and him at the door. Not to mention the child, who was new crying into her neck.

"The house is probably from those couple of raiders, you shot a mile back" she hated his bandages too. His face gave nothing. He only stared at her, while she rubbed circle in the baby on her arms. Her whole body shook when she finally acknowledge the thing in her arms as a baby. It made it real. It made it impossible for her to just abandon it. "Or maybe those raiders killed the family that lived here. I think I saw blood in the corridor"

"We don't have much space at the trailer" he was so calm. He was never calm.

"You knew" the baby started to suckle on the skin of her neck, still wet from the rain. She wanted to cry.

"I killed the raiders that lived here. I didn't knew there were more" she tries to lean her body on the crib, but when it creeks, she thinks better and slides to the floor, the bars straight on her back. "I couldn't bring you the baby. It made me think of before. I couldn't bring it to you." She only notice that she started to cry when she lets out a sob. "I didn't mean to do it"

He kneels by her side on the floor, his own head bowed, he wouldn't meat her eyes, but his hand was heavy on her leg. She knew that she'd have to play for his protection someday. But it never crossed her mind that the payment would be this. He wanted something from her. It might be comfort or absolution. She had none of those to offer. Her shoulder was the baby's to cry onto now. And she didn't think she was entitled to give any one absolution, she had her own sins to worry about.

"I can't carry a gun and hold the baby" the only thing she had to offer was the lack of accusations. And if he was looking at her now, it was because that was enough.


	8. Rain 2/3

He could kill her. It would be easy. No one would know. She would just be another skeleton in the wasteland. He looks at the scar at her temple and knows that he can finish that poor done job. He wouldn't even have to kill that little mistake. All he had to do was abandon it to its fate.

His hand reaches to his side. No. Not for his gun. For the thick blanket that they kept on her bag. Maria accepts it and wraps the small child with it. There is a bundle in her arms now. He could kill them with one bullet if he really wanted.

“There is a small town close by. We can find a place for him there.” This was the first time in 20 years that he would get rid of a male son. No. This wasn’t his son. All those boys. None of them were his either.

“They don’t like us there.” In ten years that would start on his path to become a man. He’s train day and night. And he’d either kill his share for the Legion or die trying.

“Name one place where people like us.” It’s not an accusation. It doesn’t sound like one. Either way, he knows whose fault is that.

The way she holds the child almost burns his eyes. Marking that imagine in his brain. How many women have he killed, that held their children just like that? He couldn’t do this sort of thing anymore.

“What if they won’t take the boy?” Boy. He couldn’t train another boy. He was too old to shape him into a red wearing soldier. He was a different man. He was too tired for all that.

“There is always someone who’d take a baby with open arms” and they weren’t them.

He doesn’t know why her eyes look so haunted, or why her hands cradle that tiny skulls with so much care. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Everyone had a past. And as long as she left him alone with his, he’d overlook everything that she didn’t want him to know.


	9. Rain 3/3

Rex heard her before he did. His ears peaking up. His nose high in the air, smelling her. She was alone this time. Empty handed. It was such a horrible relief. He could've ran away. He offered her the worst of his past. She din't blame him for it. Nor did she want his gifts.

They made camp way over the border of the town last night. He did all the heavy lifting, while tried to feed a baby with what they had. It was oddly domestic. It made him feel disgusted with himself. Men like him didn't get to experience that. Not even if the family was fake. He destroyed too many families like that to be worth it.

At dawn, she got up and took the baby with her. He didn't sleep. Couldn't close his eyes since he found the child. He watched her go. Maria said she'd come back as soon as possible. As soon as she got out of his sight, he though she wasn't coming back.

Joshua closed his eyes, when the sound of her boots became more pronounced. He wanted that baby gone. He wanted her to be gone. And he wanted them, as much as he wanted his burns to stop hurting. But that wasn't him. He wasn't the sort of man that had a family. He was like a hired gun for her. And yet, he kept dragging her to all the fucked up things of his past.

When he opens his eyes, she's just there, across the fire. There is a lost look on her face. No, not lost. Haunted. It's been there since she picked up the baby. It was a strange look on her. It made her look older. As old as him.

"It's done. I left him with the ghoul lady who runs the orphanage" she just drops her bag with a dull thud at her feet. Rex sniffs at her hands, before lying down again. "She had many years of experience. We couldn't have found someone better for the job"

He didn't know if she wanted to sit near him or not, but as soon as she got in range of his hands, he grabbed hers, and tugged her down to the floor. He was being pathetic. He wanted some sort of comfort from her, and he couldn't even ask for it.

She doesn't seam to think twice. Maria practically drops on top of him. She wasn't just sitting on his lap, or even just straddling him. She had sat on small space that his crossed legs made, and wrapped her legs around his middle. It wasn't a comfortable position for either of them.

Her hands grab at the faded lapels of his shirt, until their foreheads touched each other. It was such an intimate thing. He almost pulled back. Maybe he did. Because her arms encircled his neck and forced him to stay there. Touching her. Looking straight into her eyes.

"If you ever make me do that again, I will wrap you in your own entrails" the only reason he believed her, was because she didn't change her posture when saying this. He could respect someone who looked him straight in the eyes and promised a slow death.

"I'll let you" he held her by the sides of her torso. His hands under her jacket. Joshua could even feel her skin prickling under her thin shirt. Even after her threats, he wasn't denied.

He brushed his mouth on hers. It was as far as he could go on his own. If she wanted more from him, she'd have to start it. As she did many times in the past. Maria opened her mouth, and sucked at his mangled lower lip. They were a mess from the whole deal with the baby. He knew she hadn't slept a wink either. It didn't matter. They would sleep better once they had their fill of whatever this was. It was always easier to sleep after she had used him as she saw fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got stuck on this baby thing for so long, that I almost regretted thinking it up. I mean, the last chapter was in September. But when I noticed that I had 4 chapters all typed out, and it was only this chapter that kept me from posting them, I forced myself to sit down and finish it.  
> I hope I got some closer out of it.


	10. Duo

It isn't often that she uses face paint. So whenever she does it, he pays special attention to her. It's always the same shade of red that she uses. It's so dark. Almost brown. Like dried blood.

He'd seen her draw a straight line, from her square chin to the pointed widow's peak on her forehead. That paint she only uses for war. She looks like the tribal she is. Like the raider she is. She is horrible when her sweat smudges the paint. She looks like a walking corpse. And when she stops to tend the wounded, she blends with the corpses. Some days, he even thinks she's a corpse herself. She might become one if she keeps with him.

There is the painting that she covers her lips with. That one she uses when she goes hunting for young men to please her. More often than not, he sees her come back, late at night, the red paint long gone from her lips. There is no jealousy in the way he watches her clean herself. On the way he sees her wipes between her legs, casting off the dirt that her boys suly her with, the white dirt that is always smeared on her tights and never inside her. He'd wipe it all away if she asked him to. He'd clean her mouth of any paint that she might reapply. He'd clean her skin of any proof of pleasure that isn't hers. She doesn't ask. He never offers.

Than, there is the soft touch of red paint that she applies to her mouth, but only when she wants to play with him. She's coy when she paints for him. No. She doesn't paint for him. If anything, she paints less for him. Enough red to stake her claim on his mismatched lips. But never too much. That mark never stays long. It's so light. And she always rubs it away. Licking at his lips and running a thumb over them. She marks him only long enough to make him want more. Then the mark is gone and so is she.

He knows that if he ever gets his way, he'd let her mark him even more with her paint. He doesn't know where that desire comes from. He doesn't want to be owned. He doesn't want another red cross on his shoulder. He doesn't want to be a slave. But he wouldn't mind being hers, of wearing her colors if he could taint her with the gun powder that blackens his hands. Having them stake their claims on each other was something he could do.

There was no games to be played with her. He played at war, and she played at seduction. Similar, but not alike. So there could never be a winner between them. It was for the best, he was a sore loser, and an self important winner. He lets her kiss him. Lightly, as he grabs her hips with enough force to bruise. She laughs onto the crook of his neck, and he bites into her shoulder. Her nails sink into the soft tender meat of his stomach and rib cage, and he sighs with a twisted sense of pleasure.

Such similar opposites.  Him tearing at her clothes and her dressing his wounds. He's glad no one can see their courtship rituals. He doesn't want to be judged for them. He knows he will be, if anyone ever finds out. He settles with her. They mark each other. He wonders what sort of mark they could compromise, and share. What could put this courtship to an end, and lead him to the things he wants.

Maria, kisses his neck before bed, and lifts her covers in an inviting way. He won't be able to sleep with her. But he will always indulge her, in some quiet time, late at night on her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I don't update this regularly. I'll try to be more consistent. Maybe I'll be able to post more on my work vacations. Who knows


	11. Balm

The house they were in, was nothing but an empty shell from the past. It snowed. They needed a crow bar to open the planks that boarded the front door, but inside was dry and warm. Smelly and moldy, but warm. Maria scaved the home for provisions. She found clothes that could fit them both, some in almost perfect state, and things he could stich back himself, if need pressed.

After a whole day of making the house livable, and themselves bundled up for the new weather, he found himself in the sort of situation that only Maria put him through. The domestic kind.

No. That would be an unfair thing to say. He'd been around her for long enough to know how provoke this sort of situation. All Maria actually does is show him tenderness and compassion. She might have shown that for any other travelling companion that she might have. But it was him that offered to brush and braid her hair after she helped change his bandages. 'It's a pay back', he would say. When in fact, he liked to run his fingers through her thick curly hair, and pull at the short spring of her curls and watch it arrange itself as it were when he released it. Or how he enjoyed to press at the knots at her shoulders and hear her sigh at the relief of her pain.

Maria wasn't the one who suggested they share the double bed and the covers for warmth. Or the one who made him kiss her neck before sleep. He did all those things on his own. And when he didn't initiate them, he chooses to see her actions as something more than they were. He never got this sort of epiphany during the day. Some types of things only happened late at night. When all he had for company were his own thoughts. That was good. This way, he would never feel tempted to confess it all to her.

Maria was sound asleep behind him. Her body heat was a balm to the dull ache caused by the cold. He'd never been this far up south before. The wind bit at his skin, even under the layers of bandages and clothes. Not even the warm hand she had firmly placed on his chest could warm him up.

In spite to all the bother that the current weather was causing him, the cold wind that came in through the cracks in the window, wasn't what was keeping him awake. His pain. The tightness of his skin. The cramping of his muscle. It was all a dull ache now. He didn't know what caused it. The wind howled outside, causing him to shiver. Not in cold, but in fear. Fear that it wasn't the cold that gave him this moment of peace. Fear that it was her, Maria, that was curing him of whatever demons plagued his body. That was a weakness he couldn't afford. And a weakness he couldn't help indulging.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't Joshua being a soppy fool. It's just him being the regular fool that he was in Honest Heart. I'd add some Bible quotation, but that would just be a cliché for him.


	12. Small Things

When they first went out on a "expedition", she watched him get ready with some detachment. Such an imposing man. Full of scars. Character. And he carried all his things in a small backpack with a old police logo sewed on. It was a cute little bag. It had nothing to do with him. Joshua was as tall as her, and yet, his bag covered less than half his bag, while hers could even provide cover for the back of her head.

The second time she saw him ready himself, was when she propose a partnership. He should provide her protection in exchange of medical treatment. He acepted. His bag was stil the same small thing, but now, he also had a waterskin tied to his chest, and a duffle bag filled to the brim with guns, gun parts and ammo, which he carried by hand. Again, he looked ridiculous. Why couldn't he just find one bigger bag to carry all his things was beyond her.

The abandoned trailer park was their main destination. The valley offered shade during the afternoon, in its hottest hours. The river was a few metters away. And they were within walking distance between all the main camps of the tribes of the valley. In her humble opnion, that trailer, was the best home she ever had. Not even Joshua had complains to offer about it.

They settled in with quiet companionship. A weird thing to have between people who had never travelled together before. But they both enjoyed silence. So there was so awkwardness when they ran out of things to talk about. At night, she didn't even have to strong am him into staying put while she examined the extention of his burns. She poke and proded him, with her gloved hands, freshly sterelized metal swabs. He hid his pain until she informed him that she needed to know what each contact felt like for him. Sadly, 'It fucking hurts' was no appropriate answer. Not for her medical porposes at least. 'It feels like someone is poking me' wasn't very good either.

The next day, Joshua fished, cleaned and gutted enough fish to last them a coupe of days. At night, as they redied themselves to bed, she looked at his hands and tried to understand how he could move with 3rd degree burns on the delicate skin of the hands. As it turns out, his hands weren't burnt. They were mangled with scars, that told a story he wouldn't, couldn't share, but she could understand. The black color was due to the healing salves and poltices that were used on them, when he first arrived on New Cannaan from his time with the Legion.

Maria didn't know if she should scoff or laugh at his laid back reteling of torture and atempted murder. She settles with staring at him with one eyebrow raised. He shrugs at her. And she goes back to silently cleaning his hands and wrapping them in the same manner thar power glove users would wrap their own hands. It have his fingers more freedom, and added support for his wrists.

Their hands in comparison, were much like the rest of their bodies. Roughly the same size. Her fingers were thin, small fat pads on the back of her hand and fingers. His were thick, his nails blunt and chipped, almost all of them were covered in scars, old and new. For a moment, they just stay holding eachother's hands. Joshua looks at her, before lightly squeezing her fingers and turning away from her. The moment passed. She didn't have enough time to say what happened. Blinking away her confusion, she follows his lead and turns away, goes her own mattress and falls asleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was playing The Division when I decided to make a Maria and a Joshua character. Sadly, there was no police themed bullet proof vest. But there was a small poilice backpack. Now I can't stop thinking of Joshua Graham, fresh out of the Legion babecue party, raiding a police staion, and picking a small police bag for his personal use.  
> It's silly, ridiculous, and I love it.


	13. A Song

She wanted to settle down. That’s what she said, so long ago. She couldn't live like that though. She made a life for herself in Zyon. Calm. Peaceful. She made a home out of a metal box in the middle of nowhere. She lasted six months. Six months of peace. And she would wake up in the middle of the night, shaking, crying. He could only look at her. Look at her trying to control herself. How she would rock into place, murmuring to herself. It felt more intimate than seeing her naked ever felt.

 

The next day, he told her they were wasting resources where they were. Much better to be a doctor in a small city. More clients. More people to help. More caps. She didn't answer him with words. In fact, she wouldn't speak for a whole week after that. She helped him pack whatever they could, and wanted to carry with them. At night, on the road, she would sit near the dying fire, and she would look at him. Cold, dead eyes. He never looked back when she was like that.

 

That whole week, she would walk with him. Behind him. Her steps shadowing his. Rex would butt his head into her, the cold glass dome of his brain right under her hand. Maria scratched him behind the ears and that was the only thing that could make her react. Joshua contemplated the idea of lying his head on her lap, to see if she would pet him too. He dismissed it, and just held onto her hand. Tugging her forward.

 

The town he picked for them, wasn't exactly a town. More like a tribe. A small tribe. His tribe. New Canaan was dead. But his people. These people. They could move on, rebuild, grown back to what they were. Maria's hand never left his. And somehow, that made his someone to be accepted. Joshua, the son they pretended was dead, could finally come back. He had a woman with him. Who was she, by the way?

 

"My wife" that was a good enough answer. They didn't ask why she was as quiet as she was. Though life, the one of a Legionnaire's wife. Poor woman has probably seen too much.

 

More than he ever was, they accept her with open arms. And slowly, she started to talk again. At first, only short question. Medical ones. Ever the doctor, she threw herself into the job of caring for a broken tribe. There was no emptiness in her eyes when she stated to build medical charts for everyone. He could relate to that. Nothing like a purpose to ignore your own pains.

 

They loved her. Such a strong woman. She tamed that wildness that plagued that boy. They offered them a shack. Small. But enough to set up a clinic. At night, on the small bed that was offered to them, she would lie next to him, and she would murmur the same words that she used to sooth her nightmares. A song, in a tongue he didn't speak, but was strangely familiar to him.

 

"You're a bad liar" she told him one morning. A full sentence to him. The first after so long. "You should be grateful that I'm a good one" there is nothing he can say to that.

 

He is grateful. And he holds her hand during breakfast. He is grateful. And he kisses the back of her hand. It's what he thinks a husband would do. She doesn't pull away. So he might have been right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very happy that I finally managed to finish they chapter. I had the 1st half sitting on m computer for over na year.  
> I finally brough Maria to New Cannaan, or what is left of it. Not to mention my favouriter throup, fake marriage.


	14. Encore

The settlement around her is like she’s on another planet. Everything was different from her life before, and after the NCR. In a way, it was like being back to her military life. Except she wasn’t a young field doctor anymore. She was an old doctor, with an office and all. During the day, she couldn't help but feel welcome.

The way she was treated only served to different she was being treated compared to Joshua. She was a stranger. But thanks to him, and his lies, they saw her as his wife. An acceptable stranger. They pitted her. They all made up their own stories about her and Joshua. She could only imagine the horrible things they could come up with. Especially after she heard them whisper about the things she must have seen as a legionnaires wife.

At night, she would bolt down the door of the delipidated shack that she shared with Joshua. And she was at home. A home that was given to them. To Joshua. And the differences were even more glaring. She, a doctor, was welcomed. Him, a permanent mark on their religious entitlement, was not. The shack was as far away from the main settlement as possible. Joshua kept away from the others at all times.

She didn’t know how to feel about this whole thing. She was grateful that Joshua cared for her while she plagued herself with the past and all the might-have-beens that she could think of. She wasn’t so grateful of the people who accepted her.

One thing eluded her though. This so called married life. Maria have never been close to her partners. She never saw the point. She left home because she didn’t want to be tied down. And marriage was nothing but a big tie. More like a shackle around her neck. Joshua’s lie should have angered her. Gratefulness wouldn’t have pacified her. It never did.

Anger was the last thing on her mind, when she came to her senses and saw she had been living in marital bliss. Her first instinct was to admonish Joshua. He was good with guns, not lies. That was her territory. She tells him so. All he does is grasp her hand in a vice like grip and kiss the back of her hand. A mixture of the ogre and the gentleman that he was.


	15. Running Woman

Ever since she was young, on her tribe, there would be a time where she was consumed with an urge to just drop everything and run as far away as her legs could carry her. At 19, her legs managed to take across two states, right into an NCR territory. In two months, she was an apprentice to the head healer, who was an old tribeswoman, just like her. In six months, she could sleep at night without thinking of her mother, or the son she abandoned. She knew he was better off. And even when she missed him, she had no regrets. She didn’t need any regrets.

At 22, she was a field doctor and could stitch up a bullet wound in the dark like it was nothing. Her need to run away mellowed when she took up a position on an exploratory division. It took her 20 years to tire of the NCR life. It was all too much of the same bullshit. Same green soldiers, same arrogant snipers, same stupid rules that made them take over tribes as if they were heroes, and not mindless conquerors.

She was the most senior member of her squad. She either made her subordinates do those unspeakable things, or she’d face martial court. Duty towards the NCR or duty towards her heritage. Duty towards common decency. For once, she was leaving not because she wanted a different life. She was leaving because helping the NCR was killing her. And she wanted to live. Living was all she got left.

The life of a courier had been a nice break. It had the freedom of her early life as a healer, and none of the politics. She still used her old service rifle. Good and reliable. Some other couriers eyeballed her because of it. They probably thought she killed an NCR for it. Maybe she did. She killed as many people as she saved in the service.

She made a name for herself as a courier. Committed and impersonal. Those packages weren’t hers to keep. And they sure were none of her goddamn business. Until one of them was. And a little shit in a checkered suit put a cap in her for it. Somehow, she survives.

She tears up the Mojave for the boy that killed her. On the way, she found a dog, and a shitload of problems with the NCR. Apparently, it was her sworn duty to take up arms and shot down some red boys. She tries to run away. She only manages to tangle that mess around her neck. The rope they used was her _duty_. And they were gonna hang her for not using it right.

She finds the checkered shooter. Her ego is stroked by the fact that he fell for her flirting, and was too amazed by her naked breast to see her take her concealed knife. She knife cuts his throat with ease. He bleeds like all men do. Pitfully. There is no grace in death. But she’s a fool. And all that violence makes her feel powerful. And she would have felt powerful enough to take up Mr.House's offer if she hadn't found the gun that killed her.

Mother Mary looks up from the gun. And Maria knows it had been Her that protected her from that bullet. She cries as she puts her shirt back on. She’s 49 years old. And she was crying for her mother. The mother she knows it’s dead. Her pain almost forces her to join up the NCR. The Legion killed her mother. They killed everyone. She was the only Twisted Hair alive. And for once, being alive wasn’t enough.

She flees the casino as the sun comes up. The securitrons watched her go. But as soon as she delivers the chip, she is no one again. She’s a mile out of the Strip, with only an old cyberdog as her shadow, when a boy finds her. He gives her a coin. And the 9mm in her waist almost vibrates. The bullets want her to kill that boy. He’s Legion. And it would be only fair. A Legion boy for her boy.

Maria does nothing. She’s tired of watching children die. The gun burns her skin. And she cries as she watches the retreating back of the legionnaire who gifted her with the _Mark of Caesar_. It was a coin like any other. And like all coins, it could buy a lot of things, but not what she wanted.

Her pipboy picks up a signal, and the words that she hears have the answer she didn’t even knew she had. She takes note of the coordinates, and she picks up her pace. She can be there in an hour. And she could be out of this forsaken desert by the next day. Let someone else have it. She wanted none of it. Too many memories. None of them good.

It is only after she is deep into the red stone valley that she can breath again. She takes a deep breath and she can smell gunpowder and blood. She feels betrayed. It was supposed to be her chance at freedom. It had been everyone’s freedom but hers. Everyone in the caravan was dead. Except her and Rex. They were old enough for her to wonder if death forgot about them.

A boy finds her. His dialect was close enough to her old one for her to understand him. She didn’t have the time to answer in kind, for he took one good look at her and started to speak in the common tongue. Did she look like a commoner now?

She is invited back to his camp, and into the Angel Cave. Maybe her answer was in there. Maybe the death that she escaped had been test. Maybe only the strong was worth the blessing of the Mother.

Inside the Cave she sees the monster that probably killed her son. And she finally understand. It’s a bitter truth to swallow. Her worthiness would never be measured in blood. If she wanted the Mother’s blessing, she had to be like all mothers and forgive.

She had to watch that monster try to execute a man to finally be able to let go. She is afraid. Afraid of him. She begs him to be merciful and let the man defend itself. He listens to her. He’s all out of bullets. He _had_ to listen to her.

They fight each other, and she fights all the rest. Mother Mary has one last bullet. She uses to take out the one tribal with a gun, and lay waste to the rest with her knife. A knife will never run out of bullets. That knife has saved her more times that she was worth.

That knife saved that monster. Even if he too, wasn’t worth saving. The last tribal was strangling the monster. She saves him by cutting the tribal’s neck. He bleeds all over her monster. A baptism of blood to his baptism of fire. She could have watched him die, but she didn’t. So she forgives him.

Maria is old. She’s tired. Let someone else feed an undying rage towards the Legion. She was hungry. So she turns to the monster turned man, and demand he take her back to the Cave of the Angel.

 

“It’s Angel Cave” he offers her his hand and helps her back to her feet.

 

"That’s not right. Who names a cave Angel?” he looks at her with half hooded eyes. His eyes are so light that she barely notices how milky they look. In instinct, she takes hold of his upper arm. The sun was setting, and by the look of things, the burned man couldn’t see very well.

 

He tries to hide the way he tensed at her touch. She sees it. He is cold under her hand, even over clothes and bandages. She wonders at his burns. And she wonders at her ability to forgive. But thinks better of it. She had always been quick to action once she set up her mind.

 

“You never told me your name”

 

“It’s Maria”

 

“I’m Joshua”

 

“I know”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where was I going when I started this. But I've been listening to the game soundtrack and Begin Again speaks to me in a personal level.  
> Plus, this is finally a full background on Maria. Or at least, this is all the background I'm willing to create about her. Everything else will have to come to me in a dream if they want to be written.


	16. An Old Rifle

She needed to starting thinking things through. Picking someone as impulsive in battle as Joshua Graham as her private bodyguard had been a mistake. That man wasn't right in the head. She should have known that when she saw him try to take down a group of tribals with just the butt of his gun. 

But she tried to be merciful. She attributed all of that to the stress of the situation. It was all very personal to him. Maybe he needed the catharsis of beating someone that worked as the representation of the Legion and the things that happened to him, to death. Looking at him now, she isn’t so sure about her own mental stability.

They were deep into raider territory. Which meant good loot, if you could keep your head down, pick apart small groups, and walk away from the big ones. She'd done this before, by herself usually. It had hard work back then, but she was also younger, and didn't need glasses to pick up and snipe some pink haired raider from a mile away.

She's old now. She needed a second. A fricking spotter for when she wanted to lockpick a chem stash. As it turns out, Joshua Graham was a shitty spotter, and an even shittier sniper. The old man probably needed glasses as much as she does. Still, his age wouldn’t have mattered if he was the type of man to just stop and think before rushing to combat.

Now, the imbecile was across the street from her, taking cover by the door of an old shop, trying to fix his assault rifle, that jammed and broke. Maria saw a group of raiders rush him, and raised her eyes to the skies, cursing the name of Joshua Graham. There was one raider with a pipe pistol, and two with knives. Maria aims at the one with the gun. Shoots twice. Misses once. The second shot hits the raider in the neck, and he falls down.

Joshua started to use his foot to try and unjam the riffle, prompting it on the floor, and stomping on the lever that locked the ammo clip in place. She tries taking down one more raider. But she can't aim, they're too close to Joshua, and she has always been shit at using pistols. But at the last possible minute, Joshua pulls out his own pistol and shoots down both raiders. Clean and precise. Her heart hammers in her chest. Almost to the sound on his stomping on the poor rifle's lever. After a minute, when she's sure that no one else is around, she has managed to calm down, she walk over to Joshua.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore” he only grunts at her before giving up about the riffle and going inside the shop behind him. She follows him, even if what she really wants is it walk away and never look at him again.

“We should hole up for the night. We’ll be home tomorrow” he completely ignores what she says, and she makes the decision to never go looting with him ever again. Looting was for young people. Young people and their stable friends. An old doctor and a crazed gun toting ex-legionnaire have no place in this kind of business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joshua's rifle stomping is actually based on something I've seen happen. Pro tip here kids, you can clean your gun all you want, but an old gun will always find a way to fuck you up.


	17. Looking

She’s staring at him. She has been for a while now. Her eyes are merciless. They make shivers go up his spine, and something hot like molten lead sits on his belly, right below his breastbone. He wanted her to stop playing whichever game she was playing, and just get on with it. He wanted her to touch him.

“What do you want?” he feels her eyes removing every layer between them. His clothes. His bandages. She has seen him without either of them many times. Mostly for medical reasons, but also for pleasure. He hopes she isn’t just thinking about a new medical treatment for him.

“Nothing. Just looking” he chances a look at her, and sees her lean back against the headboard of their bed. He had been trying to read before she started all this, now all he can think about is the shadows of her nipples through her shirt, and how warm she must feel.

“I rather you didn’t” his voice is steady. No woman tempted him before her. No mam either. He has seen many bodies in the Legion. Soft and Strong. Free or not. Male and female. None made him want to do the things he wanted to do to her.

“Make me” It’s all he needs. An order. A request. Maria is a master in combining the two.

He carefully marks up the page of his book and puts it under the bed, where it would be safe. He licks his lips in anticipation before fully turning to her. Her eyes have what songs might call ‘ a come-hither gleam’. She’s too far away all the way up their bed. Joshua wraps a hand around her calf and tugs her to him. Her hair ends up all around the pillows. She’s a sight like that. He grunts at the effort of tugging her closer still.

“Take off your shirt” he is sure he could take off all her clothes fast enough, but this is apparently their way of asking permission. None of them are very good at openly discussing things. Her shirt is barely up her stomach before he bends over and kiss her navel. He feels her move beneath him, throwing her shirt over his shoulder. He feels her arms grab him by the arm pits and pull him up for a kiss. Her strength is on par with his.

She kisses just like a savage. She bites at him and her hands are quick in unbuttoning his shirt. She offers him false control. He is pinning her to bed about as much as she is pulling him towards her. Her legs now have an angle to wrap around his waist. She brings his pelvis towards hers. She grinds against him. She shoves her tongue inside his mouth. And not once does she mock him for not being hard for her.

Joshua pushes her away. Maria makes a high pitched noise but lets him go. He refrains from pointing out how she sounds like a bitch in heat when she makes those sounds. He doesn’t want her to know how much he enjoys when she makes them. He tugs at her sarge pants. Taking them off her, underwear and all. He has her completely naked before he looks right into her eyes and grab her breasts with both hands.

She told him once that he wasn’t allowed to call them breasts, if he was just gonna grab them like that. She wasn’t too fond of him calling them tits either. So he just make sure to never just grab her breasts. After he started to bite them, she hasn’t said a word of complaint.

Her whole areola fits into his mouth. A perfect fit for his teeth to sink into. The soft meat gives in, and so does she. Maria screams out his name, drawing out each syllable, hands are at the nape of his neck. She is keeping him in place. He knows he isn’t hurting her. He bites harder. She cries out a sob and now her nails dig at his neck. His own scars sting at the pressure and pleasure of having her scream out his name. He licks each teeth mark on her breast with tenderness. One of his teeth managed to draw blood from her. All the others just give her tiny marks . Marks that were already getting dark with bruises.

“I want a kiss” her voice is low, soft. She sounds like another woman. She makes him give her a chaste kiss before she guides his head to her other breast. She kisses him like another woman. She makes him mark her. This time he does it just the way she likes. This time he bites the side of her breast. This time he bites and pulls. It’s his own mark on her, and she looks so proud. It will leave a horrible bruise. A bruise that she will smile about every time she touches the skin above her heart.

He kisses her again. In a way they both enjoy. His tongue is in her mouth, and hers in his. It’s messy. She says he is a sloppy kisser. She kisses him anyway. His own chest is bare. His shirt probably on the floor near hears. The bandages in his chest rub against her sensitive nipples. He grinds against her, the fly of his pants is poised right against her nub.

That is another thing she always complains when he says it out loud. She finds his euphemism ridiculous. Right now, she seems to find the rhythm that he builds with his hips satisfactory. If her constant moaning of his name is any indication. They keep this position until he starts to feel light headed himself.

He still isn’t hard. And he knows that if he isn’t hard by now, he might as well forget about it. It doesn’t stop him from pulling up her legs and using them as leverage for a different angle. He fucked her like that once. Maybe it was muscle memory. He ground on her as if he was actually penetrating her. He gasps out her name for a change, and leans over her folded legs. She likes this position. She’s almost all folded in half and she doesn’t ask him to stop. They say each other’s names on repeat. Moaning them out as if on a whole new language.

The friction is still good for her. She is responsive to everything he does. He bent over for a kiss, and she humors him. She is tender. She is lovely. Maria shakes underneath him. She shakes. She moans. And she kisses him. He stops all friction. He knows how tender she can be so soon after sex. He was so close. He lets down her legs and kiss at her neck, silently asking for help.

Maria pulls him for a hug and pets the small tuft of hair he still has on his head. She embraces him fully. Legs pulling his body flush against hers. He must be heavy on her. She doesn’t seem to mind. She kisses his mismatched lips and whispers his name on the ruined shell of his ear. She didn’t seem to mind any of those things. Joshua kisses the salty skin of her shoulder before she starts calling him endearments she will never say outside the privacy of their bed. He discovered how lose her tongue can be after sex and he has learnt how to appreciate it. All secrets come spilling out. She call him her ‘dear husband’ and he is all hers. He feels his own body move as if it wasn’t his own. His orgasm shakes him, and for a small second, not one scar in his body bothers him, and he can almost feel himself whole again.

When he comes down from his high he is still lying on top of her. Maria pets his head and say things in a tribal dialect that is familiar, but still incomprehensible to his foggy mind.  She doesn’t push him off her. So he makes himself comfortable. His head on top of her breast bone and the worst of his weight is off her. It isn’t long before he falls asleep to the sound of her heart beat and the hum of a song that she must have picked up from the radio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, it just took me just 15 chapters to make another smut scene for them.
> 
> The chapter was actually inspired by [an nsfw art](http://walklikeacourier.tumblr.com/post/128519526789/lets-talk-how-i-was-going-to-trying-drawing-them) that I made for them more than an year ago. In fact, I had 30% of this typed out for 6 months now. Oh well. I'll try to keep this fic more up to date.


	18. Clean

Privacy seamed like a foreigner concept to Maria. She didn’t ever wear pants most days, and when she did, they were  _ his _ pants. She probably didn’t know what privacy really was. But he knew. And while most of the time, he could ignore how she invaded his space and stole his clothes, some things were universally off limit. Barging in uninvited while someone was taking a shower was definitely one of them. Especially if that someone was him, and he had things underneath his clothes that she didn’t want to see.

In those moments, her lack of fear of him isn’t endearing, it’s just a horror. Some part of him, a small part, always try to convince him that she means well, but his shame and rage of her seeing thing he didn’t want to, are bigger. And the worst part was that she didn’t even try to look friendly doing this. Her cold clinical detachment was a slap to the face. She would put on her thick glasses and look at his burns as if he is an experiment. Her eyes look big through the lenses. He doesn’t like looking at those pitch black eyes of hers.

She is relentless in her care. Let it never be said that Maria is an incompetent doctor. She puts on some gloves and loses all warmth and softness of her read hands. Joshua leans back from her, his back hits the cold tiles of the bathroom. Her hands follow him, and he is trapped.

“Hold still” she doesn’t look at him. All she does is peel off his bandages. He isn’t proud of if, but he begs her not to. His skin stings and burns. His eyes burn. He silently cries and she remove his last layer of privacy.

She has never asked him to take off his clothes for her. Not even when they were being intimate. He has taken off his shirt before. And only that. He has fucked her with his own scarred and burnt manhood. And he has done it in his own clothes. Maria kissed him, hugged him, accepted all there was of him.

“I refuse to see you rot” her voice breaks. She is still cold. But not impersonal. “You don’t care for yourself. Your pride isn’t worth your life. And I refuse to see you rot” her eyes fill to the brim with tears, and he can clearly see each one hang on her eyelashes and fall down her face. The thick lenses of her glasses don’t allow her to hide her tears, no matter how fast she blinked them away.

Maria looks him straight in the eyes before pulling a yellow bar of soap from her medical satchel and breaking off a piece of it. He didn’t even see her drag that in with her. She opens her mouth, but doesn’t say a word. The small piece of soap touches his skin. He bites back a scream. This was turning into hell.

“If you don’t clean your wounds properly, they’ll never close up. And open sores are so easy to infect” her voice anchor him in lucidity. They have all the care of his usual Maria. No. This voice belongs to a woman much tender. Her voice have nothing to do with the cold truth of her words. “Gangrene is a horrible thing. A horrible way to die. And if I ever see a part of you touched by it, I’ll cut it off so fast, you won’t even have time to blink”

She puts the soap she used on him away, and open up the shower faucet. The water is hot from the sun. And she washes him away from all trace of soap before getting under the water with him. She steps closer and he hides his face behind his mangled hands. She is cold, and cruel. She cares for him in the same crooked way he cares for her. He hopes his affection for her doesn’t hurt as much as hers to him.

Maria steps back from him. He feels her body move. He looks through his finger and watch her remove her own clothes. And that is more intimate than every time he has seen her naked. Her stomach and breast are lined with teeth marks. His teeth marks. She steps back towards him and wait for him to make a move. 

He doesn’t throw himself at her. This is in no way sexual. He pull her towards him. And him, Joshua Graham lose what is left of his composure. He puts his head on her shoulder, and silently ask her to hold him in her arms, and squeeze him tight. She complies. Maria puts her lips next to his with care. And he cries for all the pain he has been through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once in nursing school I had to hold down a patient so a senior nurse could cut off a chunk of their feet. It wasn't enough and later that day, they had to amputate their leg. The worst part was that the nurses and doctors were so full of pity for this person that they took too long to do it. In the end, they had to amputate the whole leg to prevent further infection. Nursing schools is where dreams of grandiosity go to die. That squash that out of you at every chance they get. I quit it the next month.
> 
> This chapter was brought to you by Put Your Head on My Shoulder, and Paul Anka's deep voice. The perfect song to listen in the shower, it bounces off the bathroom tiles in a way that few songs can.


	19. Dois Perdidos numa Noite Suja

He doesn’t remember much other than the feel of the bright sun on his eyes. It was almost as if he was waking up from a long nightmare. Except he was standing up in the middle of the training ground, and there was half a dozen on red wearing boys doing laps around him. His skin was perfect, save from his old battle scars. The feel of his own legate armor on his skin was like the one of wearing an old leather glove. It was a perfect fit for his body. It was made for him, and he was made for it.

Joshua dismisses the boys, and goes towards his tent when the sun begins to set. His shoulders are set. It feels like such a long time since he last felt this good. He was whole. And he was the strongest in this whole camp. He knew that Caesar might wear the laurel crown, but he was the greatest warrior, the one who put fear in the hearts of all the other legionnaires.  He was their Malpais Legate.

His tent was set on the far end of the camp. No one was to enter it. He pulls the flap open, and looks at the woman who was forbidden to leave it. A NCR doctor. A very angry woman. His wife. Caesar approved of him taking a wife. I showed their frumentarii that the Legion was more than an conquering army. They were Rome reborn. They were a society. In the privacy of his own mind, he scorned the very idea of marriage. But the moment that the woman that was basically his prisoner looked up at him with her angry dark eyes, and he changed his mind. No other woman would be able to match up to him. No other man would. But she was like him. The fire that burned inside him was the same that burned inside her. He offered her the respect and the life she could never have at the NCR.

Joshua Graham stepped up to his wife, and kissed her cheek. He turned her face towards him, and he kissed her mouth. He looked down at the young child in her arms. His skin was as dark as hers, but his eyes were almost milky white, like his. His beautiful wife called him a demon whenever she looked him in the eyes. But their son, was always called with endearments. He was careful when he put his hand over his son’s head. And even more so, when he put his hand over her stomach. His beautiful angry wife. And his children. He kisses her mouth again. He hugged Maria, their son and unborn child in the middle of their embrace. He heard her choke back a sob, but his face was buried in her thick dark hair, and there was nothing wrong in the world.

Except, there was. He breathed in her smell, and suddenly he was the one choking. It was dark. Maria wasn’t in his arms, and he was lost. He couldn’t breath. And the choking sobs were his own. Hands helped him sit up. He didn’t even notice he was flat on the ground. And a soft voice tells him to breath while the same hands that helped him, drew comforting circles on his back. He opened his eyes to the concerned face of Maria. And the sobs that hacked his body got worse.

She was still partially naked. He remembers falling asleep on top of her. It had been a long tiring they, neither of them had much energy to anything else, but it was still comforting to have some skin contact. Except in their case, that involved Maria taking off her clothes, and him touching her wherever he wanted. Not that he minded. He enjoyed Maria’s breathless laughter to him running his fingers along her ribcage, that was something that always put his in a good mood before sleep. Even if it didn’t stop him from wishing to be whole and able to do with her what he actually wanted. But tonight, his sleep was ruined with the worst sort of nightmare. The type of nightmare that showed him what life would have been like if he had met her when he had been a whole man.

He leaned onto her warm skin, and mumbled apologies to her. She never asked what his nightmares were about. And he never asked her what she had dreamed of when she woke him up crying. He held onto her the same way he did, when she cried in her sleep. He didn't deserve to hold her, but he was selfish. We slept wanting to be able to fuck his wife like they both deserved, but his disgusting mind twisted even the simplest of wishes.

They were on the cold floor by their bed. He knows now that he must have pushed away from her, when he woke up from his dream. They backs against the metal frame of the bed. They weren’t young anymore, and he was sure that both their backs would pay for them sitting in such uncomfortable positions. His tears were all soaked by his bandages. The skin of his cheeks burned from the salt of his tears. He deserved that pain.

“Let’s go back to bed.” she touched his chin and turned his face towards her. Her lips were soft against his mangled ones. He breathed in her sent, and got up, pulling her with him.

“You are a good wife.” he tells her once they are once more lying in their noisy bed.

“I am a fantastic wife.” he grunts in agreeance to her bragging and try to fall back asleep. He knows it’s impossible. But he is lying next to semi-naked woman that he found very attractive, so it was no chore to just lie next to her, and try to post the past where it belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am shit at updating my own fics. So you can thank user Tuniee for leaving me the most amazing review and shaming me into updating it.
> 
> This chapter was going to be a solo fic of Joshua still as a Malpais Legate finding a NCR troop and taking their doctor as his wife. But honestly, I was horrified at the small portion of the fic that I wrote, and I can totally see Joshua having nightmares about it.


End file.
